


What I See Not, I Better See

by Glump



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: some 3am-fueled conversation, takes place during uni, there's some sleepy mumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 20:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glump/pseuds/Glump
Summary: „What do you think I look like?”





	What I See Not, I Better See

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the brilliant Emily Dickinson Poem "What I See Not, I Better See"

„What do you think I look like?”, he asked, sheets rustling as he adjusted his position in the narrow dorm bed. It was late, far too late for either of them to still be up but they had been out, scouring the campus for food after a night spent in the library studying and had just now returned to their room, fingers sore from turning pages and bellies adequately satisfied.

“Like, in your inner eye or something, how do you see me?”

“I… I don’t know?”, Matt replied. He realized this is probably not what Foggy wanted to hear at all.   
“I guess I never really think about that? Like I have a vague idea of people’s heights, I know you’re a little shorter than me, things like that. Looks aren’t really that important to me – for obvious reasons. Oh! And I know you must have gigantic feet because I keep stumbling over your shoes even though you insist you always put them in their proper place, so those must be some huge kicks.   
“Okay.”, Foggy mumbled, body already succumbing to the sleep he so desperately needed. 

Matt tried falling asleep, too. 

But there was something that bothered him. Foggy obviously expected him to guess the shape of his nose or the color of his eyes. And while Matt did have some idea about the general shape of Foggy – a little soft around the belly, long hair that turned frizzy with the rain, round cheeks – he never really cared for specifics.  
And the truth was, Matt didn’t like reducing Foggy to his looks.   
In his thoughts, Foggy wasn’t confined to nose-shape or BMI. 

Foggy was sturdy, leading him more and more reliably each day, offering up his arm without being prompted, guiding Matt through even the most crowded college hallways post lectures. Foggy was warm, his flesh and soul sharing a core temperature. Foggy was like coming home during winter to a heated-up apartment – you didn’t realize just until you came home just how cold you had been.   
Foggy was a love letter to what a friend should be. There was no space for doubts about his attractiveness.   
To Matt, in his flaming view of the world, Foggy was air – vital to keeping the fire burning but subtle enough to not invoke any questions. He was just there. 

“If I had to guess, I would say you’re an almost ginger, with just enough yellow to pass as strawberry blonde. You probably have brown eyes and freckles and dimples, from the way the girls swoon whenever you smile at them. You look charming and handsome but in an approachable way. I bet your skin is pale enough that you get a million red splotches on your cheeks whenever something riles you up. But most of all, if I had to guess, really guess, I would say that you look like home.”


End file.
